Chapter 10 - The Quiet Glass
That evening, after the last guest had departed and the white tents had been taken down, the house returned to a soft, golden stillness.
The evening sky over the hills was painted in long streaks of violet, pink, and deep gold.
I walked into the dining room.
The long mahogany table was clear, polished until it reflected the warm light of the setting sun. The three crystal glasses Richard had bought forty years ago sat on the silver tray by the window.
I poured two fingers of amber bourbon into one glass.
I walked out onto the rear terrace, leaning my hands against the cool stone balustrade, looking out over the winding driveway where Evan had once stood screaming in the rain.
The air was sweet with the scent of blooming jasmine and cut grass.
I raised the crystal glass toward the sky—toward the stars beginning to blink awake above the dark pine trees.
“We did it, Richard,” I whispered into the evening breeze. “The house is safe. The company is strong. And your legacy belongs to people who earned it.”
I took a small, slow sip of the amber liquid.
May you like
It was smooth, warm, and clear—with no bitterness, no regret, and not a single tear left to shed.
I turned around and walked back inside, closing the heavy glass doors behind me, leaving the dark outside where it belonged, and stepping into the bright, warm light of my home.
